


Imperfect

by vix_spes



Series: Cadence [3]
Category: Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (2009), Deadline Gallipoli (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Flirting, Getting Together, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Piano Sex, Sexual Tension, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: It's been three years since their last encounter but Ellis would recognise that scowl anywhere.





	Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

> The third and penultimate part of my Cadence series. Also, this made me have a fit of giggles when I ended up teaching a piece by Stravinsky straight after writing this....
> 
> Now with [absolutely gorgeous art](http://vix-spes.tumblr.com/post/175586589255/tcbook-mustache-husbands-ellis-x-igor) by the amazing TC_Book

There truly was no place like London.

Ellis loved that his job allowed him to travel the world on someone else’s coin and he had been to some truly amazing places over the years – some awful ones as well – admittedly not all of them out of choice but out of necessity. Yet, London would always hold a special place in his heart. A good job really as – depending on a couple of things – he could be here for the foreseeable future. His latest book, The Tragedy of Central Europe, was slated for release in a few months and, in addition, several of his colleagues and acquaintances of note were pushing him to stand for election as the local Conservative MP. He wasn’t completely sure that the political life was for him but, well, it couldn’t be harder than being in a warzone and there was nothing that he had to do it forever.

He had just had a very successful meeting with his publishers in Chancery Lane, dropped into Fleet Street to chat to some colleagues and then was heading to a club he rather liked near New Bond Street when he caught a glimpse of what he thought was a familiar figure. On he had never really expected to see in London. He sped up slightly so that he was close enough that he could confirm that, yet, it was who he thought it was.

Igor Stravinsky was in London.

It had been three years since they had both met and seen each other for the last time in Paris. Three years since Ellis had had the most satisfying non-sexual encounter he’d ever had. Three years since nothing more than the briefest of flirtations. Three years since nothing more than suggestive conversation. Three years of a multitude of men and women wherever and whenever Ellis liked. He hadn’t forgotten Stravinsky though. Hadn’t stopped wondering what might have happened in that theatre corridor had they not been interrupted. And now, the most serendipitous of things; Igor was here in London, on Ellis’ home turf. A smile curved his lips. This was going to be fun. Lengthening his stride, he called out at the same time that he reached out to touch Stravinsky’s shoulder.

“Maestro Stravinsky?”

When the composer turned, his face was screwed up in the scowl that Ellis was so used to seeing but it melted away quickly as realisation dawned.

“Mr Ashmead-Bartlett. I had thought London too large to have the fortune to run across you and I didn’t want to presume an acquaintance and contact you.”

Ellis’ grin widened if that was possible. “Please. Presume away. I was just heading to my club but running into you is far more pleasurable. What brings you to the big Smoke?” He could see that the Russian was unsure about the colloquial term so clarified his question. “What brings you to London?”

“Work. I am recording some of my compositions for the Orchestrelle Company.”

“How marvellous that we’ll finally be able to hear you perform your own music. Are the recordings going well?”

“They say so but,” Stravinsky gave a shrug that was somehow both angry and nonchalant, “I am not so sure.”

Here, Stravinsky paused, as though there was something that he wanted to say but he was unsure how to phrase it. Ellis didn’t say anything, happy to be patient if it resulted in what he hoped for. He didn’t have to wait long, and he was given precisely what he had hoped for; an opportunity.

“The Aeolian Hall where we record, it is just down the road. Perhaps, if you are not too busy, you might like to come and listen for a time?”

Ellis’ grin was so broad, it all but split his face. “I thought you’d never ask! I can think of nothing I’d like more. Lead the way, Maestro.”

Ellis wasn’t quite sure what he had expected of the Aeolian Hall which housed the Orchestrelle Company, given that he hadn’t known of his existence despite its proximity to one of his favourite clubs, but it was rather more beautiful than he had thought. There were seats laid out in the concert hall, a beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling and Ellis moved towards the centre of the front row as Stravinsky took to the stage. He watched in anticipation as Stravinsky sat at the piano, flicking his jacket out behind him and placing his hands on the keyboard.

Watching Stravinsky play was a testament in restraint. Watching those long fingers move across the keys, caressing them, his entire being focused on the ivories. Ellis wanted that focus on him. Wanted those fingers on his body. As hard as it was, he forced himself to stay in his seat until Stravinsky had finished playing.

After the faint strains of the last chord were fading into the air, Ellis wandered up to the stage and took a seat on the piano bench next to Stravinsky, his own fingers trailing across the keys and creating a discordant cacophony. “That was beautiful, what was it?”

“Petrushka. The reworking of my ballet for player-piano. Maybe you remember this?”

Ellis felt his pulse start to rise as he recognised the first chords of Rite, that visceral work with it’s electrifying tension and primitiveness that had made his blood sing when he first saw it in London and again in Paris. It also made something else stand to attention.

“Rite…”

“Do you still find it exhilarating?”

“Yes.” Ellis’ response was breathy. “Almost more so than I did three years ago.”

“Does it still make you feel more than appropriate for polite society?”

The fact that Stravinsky had remembered Ellis’ actual words from three years ago sent a jolt straight to Ellis’ cock. Indeed, it may as well have been three years ago in Paris. Stravinsky’s eyes were dilated, and his tongue was darting out to wet his bottom lip. However, unlike last time, there was nobody to interrupt them and there was nothing to stop them.

Deciding to take the risk, he leant in and was met halfway by Stravinsky, their lips brushing together. They both pulled back and stared at each other, before they surged forwards again, Stravinsky’s glasses bumping against Ellis’ nose before they readjusted the angle. Ellis moaned at the feeling of Stravinsky’s plush lips against his, the slight tickle of moustache against his clean-shaven cheeks as Stravinsky’s lips moved across his cheek and down his throat.

The kiss was everything that Rite had elicited in Ellis; passionate, exhilarating and utterly incomparable to any other kiss in his life. He swiped his tongue across the bottom lip that had been so tempting, thrilled when it resulted in several choked-out curses in Russian. And then Stravinsky retaliated, sliding those long fingers that Ellis had so envied into Ellis’ hair and holding him in place so that he could plunder his mouth.

It was a strange situation to be in. Ellis prided himself on being a good lover; he’d certainly never had any complaints from his partners over the years. At least not about his lovemaking, even if other aspects may have been critiqued. He was used to being the one to draw whimpers, moans and gasps from his partners yet, here it was Stravinsky drawing those sounds from him, the two of them creating their own symphony.

And then, one of Ellis’ scrabbling hands landed on the piano keys as Stravinsky pressed forward, a loud cluster chord sounding throughout the room, almost immediately followed by an unmistakeable London accent.

“Maestro Stravinsky? Didn’t know you were back. Five minutes and we can start, okay?”

Stravinsky cleared his throat and attempted to set his clothing to rights, although there was no rectifying his mussed hair or his kiss-swollen lips. “Da. I mean, yes. That is fine.” He brushed his fingers along Ellis’, “I am sorry our time has been cut short.”

So was Ellis. Internally, he was cursing the imperfect timing of the recording technicians. But he was determined that this was not going to be the end of things. “What are you doing this evening? Are you contracted for anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then may I invite you to dinner at my home? If it sweetens the deal, I have a piano with a woefully neglected bench…”

“I should be done in just over an hour….”

“Let me give you the address.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to share the post on Tumblr, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.tumblr.com/post/174970742315/imperfect-vixspes-coco-chanel-igor)


End file.
